


Clashes in the dark

by Shiwah



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Cutting, Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood Spoilers, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, Rating May Change, no beta we just die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24023575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiwah/pseuds/Shiwah
Summary: The Royal Menagerie.A clash — a victory — a resolution.Or is it?
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	Clashes in the dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hakushaku13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hakushaku13/gifts).



> Loose fill for the prompt:
>
>> Another encounter between Zenos and WoL, and WoL manages to deal a lethal blow. But something went wrong™ and Zenos' soul, powered with Resonant, ended in WoL's body. Now he's there, talking, whispering, pushing WoL to more violent solutions of the problems and slowly driving them insane, until WoL can't understand where lies the border between them and Zenos. Bonus points if Zenos occasionally can take control over WoL's body, even if just for a bit.

It starts with the small things.

  
  


Your weapons on the rack look more enticing than usual. Your favourite sword — picking it up with reverence, blade reflecting gently the sunlight from the window, and oiling it feels hypnotic, calming.

Your mind empty of any worry, save for the repeated passes of the whetstone on the metal.

The blade slices the air — perfect balance of beautiful and deadly — the subtle hiss strangely satisfying.

  
  


Yet, satisfaction soon bleeds into restlessness, the ghost of inaction hounding you, biting you, _urging_ you to go, _to kill and_ _conquer_ —

  
  


A shake of your head scatters it — leaves in the wind.

Stubborn leaves they prove to be, as you now feel antsy, searching, reaching, your whole body itching for—

_What?_

Behind you, shadows in the corners. In front of you, trophies hanging from the walls.

Only the sound of heavy breathing comes back to you. A distant part of your mind realizes that it is, in fact, your own.

  
  


Your fingers then take a soothing, mindless rhythm, almost by their own volition.

Rolling up and down the blade, feeling the coolness, the sharpness, the subtle stratification of the alloy on itself to form such an instrument of deliverance and death — craftsmanship honed for a purpose, and one purpose alone...

  
  


A careless, absentminded swipe of your thumb on the edge of the blade.

Blood, flowing—

_The Menagerie—_

Zenos amidst the flowers, his face forever frozen in cruel happiness, his own blood _so red_ against his pale skin—

  
  


The morbid memory fades away — the stillness it leaves behind does not, your wounded finger staining the stone and your eyes unseeing.

  
  


The sunlight changes, from violent white to red, painting the walls in the colours of the sunset.

Finally, your mind quieted, you fetch your medical supplies.

The water cleanses; the needle closes; the bandages hide the severity of the cut.

You work alone, methodically, the purpose of the cleaning so different now — almost dizzyingly so.

  
  


No soul alive shall know of what has transpired.

  
  


In the dark recesses of your mind, a gleeful grin flashes.


End file.
